Page 36 of The Maine Event (Romancing the Workplace #2)

EIGHTEEN

I stare at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen, trying to muster up some semblance of enthusiasm for Incrediburger’s new lower-calorie menu.

Based on the early success of their plant-based burger, they’ve embraced our ideas for diversifying their product offerings further with a new range hitting the shelves as soon as we’re done with Thanksgiving.

The campaign is strong, and our art team has done an amazing job with the mockup imagery and taglines, but despite the real business need to get this launched, their decision-making has become glacial.

When I say their decision-making, I mean Lyle’s.

Lyle didn’t take my rejection well at all. He’s spent the last two weeks outing himself as a total and complete asshole, and is proving to be a thorn in my side by deliberately delaying and frustrating every email, every sign-off, every meeting… It’s petty, pathetic, and predictable.

I may have to remove myself from the account so that we can all get back on track, but it annoys me immensely that I won’t be able to work with the rest of the team who’s proven to be incredibly professional.

I absently rearrange the succulents on my desk, a futile attempt at bringing life to this sterile space.

The pot of zinnias, a gift from Zoe after the GreenShoots pitch, serves as a bittersweet reminder.

We won the account, the biggest coup of my career, at Channing Gabriel.

But at what cost? Late nights, missed dinners with friends, a perpetually neglected personal life?

As if on cue, my desk phone jolts me out of my rumination. It’s Jenna, my assistant.

“Rachel, the partners want to see you in the boardroom. Like, now.”

I sit up straighter, pulse quickening. “Did they say what it’s about?”

“No, but they said to drop whatever you’re doing and head over. Seems urgent.”

“Okay, thanks, Jenna. I’ll be right there.”

I smooth my silk blouse and quickly check my face in a compact. An impromptu summons from the higher-ups rarely bodes well. My mind races with possibilities as I make my way down the hallway. Have I slipped up somehow? Overlooked a crucial detail on the Harcourt account?

I pause outside the imposing mahogany doors, steeling myself. Whatever awaits me on the other side, I’ll handle it with the poise and professionalism that got me this far. I turn the polished brass handle, and step inside, ready to face the music.

I step into the boardroom, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. The partners are already assembled, seated around the expansive glass table like a corporate war council. At the head sits Crystal Channing herself, impeccably coiffed and poised, her steely gaze fixed on me.

“Rachel, please have a seat,” she says, gesturing to an empty chair.

I settle in, trying to read the room. Tense anticipation hangs in the air, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. Excitement?

“We have some news,” Crystal begins, her red-lacquered nails tapping against the table. “GreenShoots has served out their six-month notice period with Overt PR, as of this morning, they’re a Channing Gabriel client. It’s official.”

A wave of relief washes over me, followed by a surge of pride. We did it. Months of grueling work, endless revisions, and cutthroat negotiations have finally paid off.

“Congratulations are in order,” chimes in Ethan, the director of accounts. “This is a huge win for the firm, and for you, Rachel.”

I nod graciously, but inside I’m puzzled. Surely, they didn’t call me in here just to offer congratulations?

Crystal, as if sensing my confusion, leans forward. “We wanted to acknowledge your instrumental role in securing this account. Your strategic vision and tireless dedication laid the groundwork for our success.”

“Even if Zoe delivered the final pitch,” adds Helen, her tone a mix of praise and something sharper. A reminder, perhaps, that my protégé is nipping at my heels.

“Of course,” I reply smoothly. “It was a team effort. I’m just glad we could deliver for the client.”

“This account opens up exciting new avenues for Channing Gabriel,” says Crystal, her eyes gleaming. “And we have you to thank, Rachel. Your hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

There it is again, that undercurrent of anticipation. I feel like I’m on the cusp of something big, but I can’t quite grasp what it is.

“In fact,” Crystal continues, “we’ve been discussing your future with the firm…”

She slides a document across the table, the Channing Gabriel logo embossed at the top. My heart rate kicks up a notch as I scan the header: Partnership Offer.

The room erupts in applause, a cacophony of congratulations and well-wishes. But the sound seems distant, muffled by the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears.

A partnership. The pinnacle of achievement in this world of glass and steel, of power suits and boardroom battles. The validation of every late night, every missed weekend, every sacrifice I’ve made at the altar of my career.

My fingers trace the crisp edges of the document, the weight of it suddenly heavy in my hands. This is everything I’ve worked for, the logical next step in my meticulously planned trajectory.

So why does a flicker of doubt stir in my chest?

Crystal’s voice cuts through my reverie. “This is a momentous day, Rachel. We’re thrilled to officially welcome you into the partnership ranks.”

She extends a pen, an expectant smile on her lips. “Just sign on the dotted line, and let’s make it official.”

I stare at the blank space awaiting my signature, the weight of the decision settling on my shoulders. The rational part of me knows this is an incredible opportunity, the culmination of years of hard work and dedication.

But another part, a small, insistent voice I’ve long ignored, seeds doubts. Is this really what I want? Is this the path to fulfillment, to a life well-lived?

Images flash through my mind: the sterile emptiness of my high-rise apartment, the wilting plant on my desk, a silent testament to my neglect. The missed birthdays, the foregone untaken paid time off, the relationships left to wither on the vine of my ambition.

And then, unbidden, a memory surfaces. The boat house by the river, the warmth of Dan’s smile, the sound of Chloe’s laughter.

That door is certainly closed, but the experience gave me a glimpse of a different life, one where success is measured not in titles and accounts, but in moments of connection and joy.

My hand hovers over the page, the pen suddenly heavy in my grip. The eyes of the partners bore into me, expectant, eager. They see a rising star, a valuable asset to be acquired.

But do they see me? The real Rachel, beneath the polished veneer and the impressive resume?

The seconds tick by, each one an eternity. The air feels charged, the silence thick with anticipation.

I take a deep breath, the scent of leather and high-end cologne filling my lungs. This is it, the moment of truth. The crossroads where I decide the course of my future.

Partnership, or something else entirely? The safe, well-trodden path, or a leap into the unknown?

I close my eyes for a moment, seeking clarity amidst the swirling doubts and desires. And then, with a suddenness that surprises even me, the answer crystallizes.

I know what I have to do.

I open my eyes, meeting Crystal’s expectant gaze. The words form on my lips, a declaration and a choice all at once.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice steady even as my heart races. “But I can’t accept this offer.”

A ripple of shock passes through the room, faces morphing from anticipation to confusion. Crystal’s perfectly manicured brows furrow, her lips parting in disbelief.

“Rachel, I don’t understand. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You’ve earned this. Maybe you don’t fully understand the Partners’ profit share program?”

I nod, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite the gravity of the moment. “You’re right, I have earned this. And I’m incredibly grateful for the recognition and the faith you’ve all shown in me.”

I pause, gathering my thoughts, choosing my words with care. “But I’ve also realized that my path, my true fulfillment, lies elsewhere. This job, this life… It’s taught me so much. But it’s not the end goal. Not anymore.”

The partners exchange glances, a mixture of disappointment and grudging respect in their eyes. They know, as I do, that once my mind is made up, there’s no changing it.

Crystal leans back in her chair, studying me with a newfound intensity. “And what is your end goal, Rachel? What does your path look like?”

I laugh softly; the sound surprising me with its lightness.

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure yet. But I know it involves more than contracts and campaigns.

It’s about making a real difference, not just to a bottom line, but to people’s lives.

It’s about finding a balance between work and everything else that matters. ”

I stand, smoothing my skirt, the fabric a familiar armor that I no longer need.

“Thank you, truly, for everything. For the opportunities, the mentorship, the challenges that have shaped me. But now, it’s time for me to shape my own future.”

I extend my hand, a final handshake, a gesture of gratitude and farewell.

Crystal takes it, her grip firm, her eyes searching mine.

“You’re sure about this?” she asks, one last attempt to sway me. “You’re sure you want to quit?”

I nod, my resolve unwavering. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

And with that, I turn, my heels clicking against the polished floor as I walk towards the door. Towards a new beginning, a new chapter in the story of Rachel Holmes.

The future is unwritten, a blank page waiting to be filled. And for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to pick up the pen and start writing.

I push open the glass door of the boardroom, stepping out into the familiar buzz of the office. But everything feels different now. The weight of expectation has lifted from my shoulders, replaced by a giddy sense of possibility.

I walk to my desk, my steps lighter, my smile wider.

I gather my belongings, the few personal touches I’ve allowed myself over the years.

A framed photo of my sister and her family, a small succulent that’s managed to survive my erratic watering schedule, and, of course, my favorite coffee mug, my constant companion through late nights and early mornings.

As I make my way towards the elevator, I feel the eyes of my colleagues on me, curious, questioning. But I don’t falter, my head held high, my grin unfaltering.

I step into the elevator. The doors slide shut, cocooning me in a moment of solitude. I lean against the wall, the cool metal a contrast to the warmth blooming in my chest.

The doors ping open, and I step out into the lobby, the sunlight streaming through the high windows, bathing everything in a golden glow. It feels like a sign, a blessing from the universe, a nod to the rightness of my decision.

And then, with a final nod, I turn and walk out of the building for the last time, into the bustling city street, into the future that awaits me, unknown and uncertain, but filled with the promise of something extraordinary.

The sun feels warm on my face as I step onto the sidewalk, a gentle breeze playing with my hair. I pause, closing my eyes, savoring this moment of liberation, of beginnings.

Around me, the city pulses with life—the honk of car horns, the chatter of pedestrians, the distant wail of a siren. But for once, I feel separate from the hustle, the relentless drive that’s defined my life for so long.

I open my eyes and start walking, no clear destination in mind, just a need to move, to feel the pavement beneath my feet, to let my thoughts wander.

As I walk, I feel a lightness, a loosening of the knots that have taken up permanent residence in my shoulders. The weight of expectations, of proving myself, of chasing the next achievement—it falls away, leaving me feeling unmoored, but also free.

I pass familiar landmarks—the coffee shop where I’ve grabbed countless early morning lattes, the dry cleaners where I’ve dropped off my favorite suits, the gym where I’ve sweat out my frustrations on the treadmill. They feel like markers of a past life, a Rachel that I’m leaving behind.

As I loop back towards my apartment, the low November sun is already starting to set, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. It feels like a promise, a sign of the beauty that’s waiting, just beyond the horizon.

I fish my keys out of my pocket, feeling the weight of them in my hand. They represent stability, security, the life I’ve built. But as I slot the key into the lock, I know that I’m ready to let go, to build something new.

I step into my apartment, the space feeling different somehow, like it belongs to a past version of me. I set my pot plant on the windowsill, a small symbol of growth, of nurturing something beyond myself.

And as I look out at the city skyline, I feel a rush of gratitude, of joy, of pure, unadulterated hope.